Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Had it covered... I thought. And a little Christmas

Northern lights better than frozen volcanoes

Someone
once observed, “Indecision is the key to flexibility.” I must be very flexible,
indeed.

A
couple of posts back, I asked opinions on three photos for use as a cover on a
novel. In the post I also mentioned conventional wisdom suggests the use of a
professionally designed cover. (Bear in mind, I could never be accused of
having wisdom, conventional or otherwise.)There
were more comments on those three photos than any other post on the blog. And I
would like to thank everyone who took the time to comment. Most of the comments
indicated the shot I was leaning toward would be the best post. Then indecision
stepped in.

“Why
not use a professional photo?” the nasty little voice on my shoulder asked.

“Well,
because… umm… it uh… I’ll get back to you on that.”

There
is a professional photographer I worked with when writing for the paper, M. Scott
Moon. Everyone in our little area is familiar with Scott’s work. I feel lucky
enough to also call him a friend. To watch Scott work his photographic magic is
amazing.

We did
a story on dipnetting at the mouth of the Kenai River one summer. As we walked
the beach, dodging the aerial bombings from the thousands of seagulls drawn to
feast on the fish heads, Scott was shooting away. As a particularly large flock
of gulls rose from the sands, off to my right, I glanced in that direction.
There was Scott, snapping merrily away as the flock rose from around a young
man sitting on an ice chest, reading a book. Many would say the resulting photo
was a matter of luck. Those are people who don’t know Scott. He had positioned
himself to take the picture so that when the birds all lifted off they created
a frame around the young man. (As an aside, I went over to interview the guy
with the book. He was still wiping the gull crap off the pages when I got
there. Obviously, Scott had skimmed a beautiful moment from ugly reality.)

Thinking
about using a professional photograph immediately made me think of Scott’s
work. Checking out his website was an embarrassment - that I would even
consider using one of my own snapshots. (Check out Scott’s photography by going
to: http://moon.photoshelter.com)
It didn’t take long to conclude I would have to reconcile myself to simply putting
text on the cover, and the less intrusive, the better.

With
the indecision about the cover resolved, it was time to finish up the HTML work
for the book. I can say this about HTML: there is no indecision about working
with HTML, you WILL pull out your hair. (I’m hoping those bald patches will
fill back in eventually.) The last of the weeping and wailing faded away a
couple of days ago, and Somewhere West of
Roads is now available through the U.S. Amazon. (It will be available in
overseas Amazon sites in a few more days.) You can check it out, and read a
portion of it by clicking here: SomewhereWest of Roads. (And if you weren’t aware of it, you don’t need a Kindle to
read the entire book. There are free downloads for the Kindle app for iPad,
iPod, PC’s, Mac’s, you name it.)

Okay,
the shameless plug is over. Let’s have a little Christmas cheer with a less than traditional poem!

The Night Before Christmas

(With additional apologies
to Clement Clarke Moore)

'Tis the night before
Christmas, and although Dad is tired,

He'll be up to the wee
hours, 'cause some assembly's required.

The tool box is ready, the
parts are laid out;

With instructions unfolded,
Dad's mind fills with doubt.

The children are sleeping,
they're sure things are right,

Their slumber unbroken as
Dad works on through the night.

And Mamma will be helping,
as best that she can

But it's mostly a job for
the family's old man.

When out on the floor there
is dumped such a clutter,

He counts all the pieces,
and Dad's heart starts to flutter.

Shaking all of the boxes,
he lets fly a snort,

"Those dirty dweeb
packers!Two lock washers short!"

The light is turned up on
the bright kitchen floor

As Dad carefully recounts
the pieces once more.

When what to his wondering
eyes should appear

But Mom with the washers
saying, "Hon, they're right here."

With a Phillip's screw
driver, a twist and a flick,

The first toy is finished
and wrapped double quick.

More rapid than eagles,
Dad's curses they flow

As he grumbles and grouses,
eight more left to go:

"Now, part A to part
B, match top side to bottom,

On left side, cross over to
right side and lock 'em,

To the top of the front, to
the top of the back...

I'm going nuts, going nuts,
going to crack!"

So Dad balls up the instructions
and throws them away,

He'll defeat this small
obstacle by doing it his way.

So out comes the hammer, to
make things fit right,

Dad bludgeons and pounds
parts until they are tight.

And then with a tinkling,
it all falls apart.

With gnashing and wailing
it's back to the start.

As he draws a deep breath
and sucks down a cold brew,

Dad slumps to the floor,
wondering what he should do.

He is psyched-up to beat
this, he simply can't quit,

With a little more brute
force things are certain to fit.

The passel of pieces he's
flung 'round about

Are picked up and piled and
sorted back out.

His eyes, how they're
blazing! his lips are drawn tight;

His cheeks are now flaming;
he's ready to fight!

His gnarled hands are drawn
up in fists that are taught

And his wrinkled brow shows
that he's lost deep in thought.

Dad works with the passion
of one who's possessed,

The hours march on, but
there's no time for rest.

As the clock on the wall
chimes five times in a row,

The last of the goodies is
ready to go.

As Mom finishes wrapping,
and puts things in place

Dad sits and stares numbly
out into blank space.

The slump of his posture,
the kink in his neck,

Give hint to his burn out,
he's a physical wreck.

The bags of his eyes hang
down to his belly,

He's crossed eyed and bow
legged, his brain is like jelly.

The children awaken and
pour in the room,

Their patter and chatter
lifts Dad from his gloom.

After each gift is
examined, and declared to be neat

Dad struggles to rise up
and make a retreat.

But they hear him exclaim,
ere he slinks out of sight,"Happy Christmas to all. And now, to all, a good night!"